Labyrinthine waves creak beneath lines of stout oak and sandal-clad feet. Powerful muscles bulge beneath prison-stripes as guide draws dark wood blade through choppy water. Brushing beneath them things long gone: hundreds of years, the prows of old ships, and lost homesteads. A place built upon mortar and memories. Boisterous voices rise in romantic language as children skip across the shadows of narrow ribbons of stone, shadow, and well-trodden feet.

A place that sits outside of time and ensconced completely in the smell of salt and sea. The city soon to become a sister in name to ever-missing Atlantis beneath the waves; barber poles left to wink at the curious above in crimson and white. One sight to be remembered for generations to come. A seat within the crown of the Queen Adriatic.